The Space Between Us
by Liv Wilder
Summary: Three-shot set after "Cop & Robbers" but before "47 Seconds". "Hey. Did we get a body?" he asks the second she answers. "And good morning to you." He can hear her smile as she speaks, rightly chiding him for his lack of manners and any proper greeting. "Sorry. You're right. Let me start over." He takes a deep breath, pauses and then smiles. "Good morning, detective." COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This is a three-shot set sometime after 4x17 "Once Upon A Crime" but before 4x19 "47 Seconds". It's an exploration of what might have been for Castle and Beckett, and what could be for all of us, if we just speak out, say what we mean, ask for what we want from life._

 _The final two chapters are already written. I'm learning my lesson. :) I will probably post them a day apart at most._

 _With thanks to WRTRD once more for listening to my grumbling, reading random paragraphs and telling me they make sense, and for reminding me what a great show St. Elsewhere was of its time and type._

* * *

" _What art offers is space - a certain breathing room for the spirit."_

 _ **\- John Updike  
**_

* * *

 ** _The Space Between Us_**

 _Chapter 1_

It comes to Castle in fragments and snatches, this nagging thought that forms on the periphery of his brain, something just out of reach that seems to dart away every time he attempts to turn, mentally speaking, and look at it square on. It's ephemeral and yet in recurs. For days it recurs, forcing him to focus. It forces him to quiet his busy-boy brain and home in for once on what his own mind is trying to tell him. Like holding onto a dream after waking, it takes effort, powers of recall he has in abundance, put to good use this time for his own benefit and that of Kate's, if he's right and the planets align.

It distills, eventually, after a lot of hard work on his part. He sits by the window and stares at nothing while he lets his brain meander. He takes a bath – an infrequent luxury – lingering until the water runs cold and his fingers and toes prune like plump Medjool dates, his mind filled to the brim. It distills and coalesces into a series of interlinked questions. The questions are general at first, _seem_ general. But then nothing that comes out of his head is ever general for very long. He's learned that over the years he's spent writing, worrying a plot point into submission, figuring out the details of a fictional crime, always thinking on more than one plane at a time, and more recently, helping the NYPD with cases that, on the face of it, seem like stone whodunits and which, without Castle's input, might well have remained unsolved on more than one occasion.

The answer, or maybe it's just the fully formed question, finally comes to Castle one bright morning, one of those days where the world seems to be waiting just for you when you throw the curtains wide or raise the blinds. The sun is shining, a gentle heat filled with the promise of a warm, clear day ahead. And it comes to him in that instant that if he's right, if he's reading the signs correctly, they're really not so far apart at all.

He's not at all sure what causes this burst of clarity. Maybe it's the feeling of having defied death that he still retains from having made it out of the bank alive with his mother several weeks ago. Maybe it's the memory of the look on Kate's face when she found him amongst the stour* and the rubble. It was a look you give someone you love. The very definition of love, of need, of how important he is to her was encapsulated in her smile that day when she found him alive, knelt down in front of him, her fingers grasping his lapels as if she was afraid to let go, like he might drift off somewhere out of reach, as if she couldn't quite believe he was really there.

Or maybe it was how close to her he felt when they finally sat down to endure his mother's play and, instead of taunting him with the embarrassing details, real and imagined, that his mother chose to reveal of his life, she had taken his hand and leant her support. In that moment they felt like partners in everything. Kate Beckett had sat there in front of his mother and child and had held his hand until the farce of a play was over and their hands were forced apart to applaud his mother's rosy version of her own reality. He can still feel her slim, cool fingers wrapping around his own if he thinks hard enough, can bring to mind the weight of their hands resting on top of his knee. The memory softens his heart and makes his pulse quicken. Every. Single. Time.

* * *

He goes out onto his roof deck balancing a tray filled with orange juice, a steaming cup of coffee and a bowl of some fiber-rich granola concoction his mother swears by these days, and he sits in the early sunshine and tries to figure out a way to profit from his revelation. It's a big question, that's for sure: what prevents people from speaking out, from saying what they really mean and from asking for what they really want in life? And what prevents the two of them specifically?

The other question, the one that brings up the rear, that dogs his steps like a vicious wolf snapping at his heels, is more worrisome: what's the worst that can happen? It's this question that holds him in check and prevents him from just picking up the phone and blurting out his heart before they backslide any further away from precious smiles of adoration and public handholding.

Because they inch forward, closer to the line time and again, and then, like the tide, retreat for a while to float in this in-between space they've made for themselves. On bad days it's a kind of purgatory, a waiting room for a better life to come. He hopes. On good days it's a state of ecstatic anticipation, a delicious prelude to the main act that he'd gladly forestall forever if it means he's almost there. They're almost there.

He lets the sun warm his face as he eats his breakfast, and his mind wanders in the way that it's apt to do. He has to force himself to confront the issue he's grappling with because in his excitement at realizing how close they are, he's forgotten to work on the how of this knotty problem. He's jumped a step ahead and begun to allow himself to imagine claiming his prize. Because it's quite possible that he could say one sentence, choose the right question, catch her in the perfect mood, and in that simple act of bravery, he could claim his personal equivalent of a lottery win – a life with Kate Beckett. If he were braver, if she were braver, if together they could just say what they felt and what they meant and then hug it out…whatever happens.

He just needs to find the words – the key to the riddle - that will unlock the future he's certain they both want and deserve.

* * *

When he goes back into the kitchen after breakfast there's a missed call on his phone. The missed call is from Beckett. He hits redial without pausing for breath.

"Hey. Did we get a body?" he asks the second she answers, breathless despite his lack of physical exertion.

"And good morning to _you_." He can hear her smile as she speaks, her tone amused and teasing, rightly chiding him for his lack of manners and any proper greeting.

He shakes his head, runs a hand through his messy hair. "Sorry. You're right. Let me start over." He takes a deep breath, pauses and then smiles. "Good morning, detective."

His warm deployment of her title earns him a Beckett grin that he can clearly hear down the line when she says, "That's better."

"Were you…phoning for anything in particular?"

He kicks himself when he hears her voice falter, uncertainty leaching in. "I…I'm sorry. Am I interrupting something?"

"No," he rushes to reassure her. "Just…enjoying a leisurely breakfast. You?"

And then the smile is back, her voice soft with it, intimate. "I'm at my desk. Castle, are you _sure_ you're okay?"

"Yeah, Beckett. I'm peachy."

Kate laughs. " _Peachy?_ "

"I'm good," he assures her, an inkling that she can tell there's something going on with him, something on his mind, reminding him again – they're not so very far apart.

"Are you— Did you plan on coming in today?" she asks, and he imagines he detects a note of hope in her voice amidst the bashful hesitation, and it lifts him further.

"Do you need me?"

There's a pregnant pause before she answers. "You asked me that question once before." She sounds like she's flirting now.

He matches her husky tone with a cigar-soaked voice steeped in coffee and cognac. "I believe I did."

"Didn't turn out so well for you that day," she points out, before he hears her take a sip of something.

"You didn't answer me, as I recall."

He hears the squeak of her chair as she sits up straight, on alert. "Are you saying what happened in the bank that day was _my fault_?" she demands, humor tap dancing over every syllable now that they're safely on the other side of that particular nightmare.

"Not your fault, no," he assures her.

" _But?_ Castle, I detect a but in there," she probes, enjoying this particular little skirmish with him.

"Maybe that's just your guilt talking," he teases, laughing when she lets out an infuriated growl.

There's a long pause while neither of them speaks and then he hears Kate clearing her throat. "So…"

"So…" Castle mimics, knowing how frustrated this will make her. He knows fine well what her "So" is supposed to prompt – a confirmation from him that he's coming in to the precinct today. He chooses to leave her dangling, make her work for it a little harder.

He hears her blowing out a breath, imagines her bangs flying up off her forehead. "Are you coming in today to grace us with your presence?"

 _Bingo!_

He knows it takes a lot for her to ask, especially since this is the second time she's had to do it in the space of a single phone call.

He smiles. "Tell me you need me, Beckett, and—"

"Oh, you are _NOT_ holding me hostage, Richard Castle," she laughs, her chair squeaking again as she moves around in her state of animation.

"So…you don't need me. Well, I guess I'll just spend the day here then. I have plenty of writing to—"

"Get your ass in here. I need you, okay?" she whispers feverishly into the phone so no one but Castle can hear her beg.

His heart is pounding and his face feels hot, like he's blushing even though he's home alone.

"I…I'm sorry. I think this might be a bad line, detective. Could you possibly repeat that last part? I'm having a little trouble hearing." He grins as he speaks, imagining Kate rolling her eyes at this last piece of fakery, pushing his luck like he's done since the beginning.

"When hell freezes over, Castle."

"I'll see you mid-morning then," he says, laughing with her when the sound of her triumphant "I win," comes sailing down the line at him.

* * *

Too restless for a cab, he takes the subway, and then walks the extra four blocks to her favorite coffee shop for the white chocolate and macadamia nut muffins they only get in on Tuesdays. It's a little over the top and kind of ridiculous, it's only Tuesday after all, just some anonymous, not remotely special middle-of-the-week day. But this is his version of walking over hot coals for her, or as close as he's able to get in Manhattan on a Tuesday morning at short notice. So he goes the extra mile, though not literally, and he gets her coffee and a bag of pastries while he kneads his thoughts into shape inside his head.

Her parents were both lawyers, so she's used to structured, dispassionate, fact-based arguments. He bets their family dinners were spent debating, furiously, and not just whether Bobby Ewing's shower scene comeback in _Dallas_ was the lamest "it was all a dream" episode in a TV show when compared to the series finale of _St. Elsewhere_ ** and that infamous snow globe device. Oh, the letdown of it all. The feeling of being cheated out of six years' worth of emotional investment, not to mention (and Martha felt the need to mention it more than once) preventing all those actors from ever having a shot at a reunion show and another pay check out of the same gig, so thoroughly did they wreck the series with their "it was all in little Tommy's head" final scene.

So, yeah, he's sure her parents discussed weightier topics and with much less bias towards self-interest if Kate's upbringing is any indication of the principled woman she's grown into today. But his attempts at turning their issue into a structured argument don't fair so well. A list of pros and cons for barging blindly into a relationship with her now sound inappropriate, dispassionate at worst, not to mention far too contrived. Castle is a man who feels deeply, who loves fully when he loves, and whose mind cannot be bent to the rigors of the law and its pared-back structures even to win Kate Beckett's heart. Better he appeal to her from a place of love and emotion with romance and loyalty than the cold-hearted sanctuary of logic.

* * *

An hour or so later he puts her coffee on her desk, leaning in close so he can present it to her over her shoulder. His arm brushes her hair as he does so, but she doesn't start. She's been expecting him. Hell, maybe she smelt the coffee all the way up the elevator shaft. For whatever reason, she doesn't jump or reprimand, but she is blushing when she turns her chair towards his in anticipation of him sitting down.

He hands her the bag of pastries and she accepts with a grin of girlish delight, opening the paper sack and sticking her nose inside to inhale with the deepest sense of sweet pleasure.

"You took your time," she says by way of opening salvo, clever eyes dancing with the gauntlet she's just thrown down.

Seems they're both in a playful, boundary-pushing mood today. Perfect.

"Should have said you were desperate, Beckett. I'd have got here a whole lot faster."

"A lady never begs," she fires back, stunning him into speechless silence, while she takes a long, noisy, appreciative drag on her coffee. "Thanks for this," she adds, lifting her cup to toast him while he's still gawping at her froth-decorated lips, which she licks while he watches, leaving him in need of more caffeine of his own or just something to do with himself that isn't staring at his partner's glistening mouth with naked longing.

They sit quietly like this, sneaking glances, trading amused smirks, a few quiet words of clever banter now and then, caught up in one another while the bullpen rattles on around them, until their coffee and muffins are done and playtime, for Kate at least, is over.

She trashes her coffee cup with a reluctant sigh and returns to the open folder in front of her with the dedication and focus that he has come to expect and admire.

Castle takes a deep breath, licks his lips and then draws himself up to his full height in his chair.

"Can I talk to you?" he asks, leaning in close to the corner of her desk.

Kate puts down her pen and sits back in her chair. "Sure. What's up?"

"Maybe…" He looks around furtively. "Maybe not here."

"You…need privacy for this…talk?"

"I think that would be better."

" _Okaaay_. Should…should I be worried? I mean is there a problem? You're not sick or anything?" she asks, her brow knitting together in concern.

"No!" he laughs. But it comes out sounding hollow and frankly a little scared.

"And Alexis and Martha. They're fine too?"

"Everyone is fine, Beckett."

"Okay. Good," she says, a hand pressed flat over her heart like she's settling herself. "What did you want to talk about?"

"Did you not hear the part where I said not here?"

"Right. Sorry. It's…" She shakes her head at her own need, at this wanting to know impulse she carries around with her everywhere.

"A detective thing, I know," he reassures her.

When he still sits there, waiting eagerly, like a dog with its leash in its mouth, she looks at him with even more surprise.

"Did you need me to go with you _now_?"

"Now would be good."

Kate checks her father's watch. "Castle, it's just after eleven. I can't just—" she shrugs, looking around her workplace in helpless frustration; frustration that she can't say yes to him, as she'd so clearly like to.

He smacks his forehead to demonstrate the realization of his own idiocy. "Of course you can't. I didn't quite think this through. I'm sorry."

"Look, I'm stuck here doing paperwork. But you don't look like you're going to last an hour sitting there with nothing to do. How about you come back and get me at the end of shift? If we catch a case in the meantime, I'll give you a call."

She smiles at him tenderly, trying to soften the blow of telling him no for the right reasons.

Castle twists his fingers together, nerves forcing him to make one last ditch effort at doing this now. "You couldn't take an early lunch?"

She leans in close to whisper, "Gates would fry us both. Is this really so important that…" She trails off, watching him begin to nod. "It is?" He nods again. "Now you really have me worried."

She stands abruptly and Castle watches as she bends down to grab her purse from the bottom drawer. She has a light sweater in her hand when she turns back to look at him, her lip drawn between her teeth in momentary hesitation. Something she sees in his expression or in his eyes decides the matter for her.

"Hey, Ryan," she quietly calls. "Can you cover for me with Gates? Castle and I have this…this _thing_ we need to do."

Ryan smirks, looking first at Beckett and then at the writer. "You guys have a thing? A thing you need to do?"

"Are you just going to sit there repeating everything I say?" she demands, her hands falling to her hips.

"No. It's just—"

"What kind of a thing?" chips in Esposito, always the braver, cockier one of the two.

"A _private_ thing," Kate snaps. "Will you help us or not?" she glares.

They walk out to the elevator side-by-side, both thrown a little off-kilter by whatever this is and by leaving work recklessly early with neither excuse nor plan nor a full explanation. They exchange glancing blows of shoulders, elbows, and arms as they walk close to one another despite the idle chatter Kate knows will have erupted in the wake of their mysterious departure.

"Castle, this better be good," she murmurs, as the elevator doors slide closed and they turn to face the front. "They're going to be taunting us for weeks after that little scene."

* * *

 _A/N: Next chapter up tomorrow or the day after. Final chapter by the end of the weekend. Thanks for reading._

 _* Stour, noun, Scottish: Dust forming a cloud or deposited in a mass. e.g. "demolition stour clung thickly to the walls."_

 _**St. Elsewhere was a US hospital drama that ran for six seasons from 1982-88. In the series finale they showed the autistic son of one of the characters staring into a snow globe which contained a miniature version of the hospital, St. Eligius, the clear implication being that all the drama that had taken place over the last six seasons had been generated in the mind of this autistic boy and was therefore purely a figment of his imagination. Needless to say it caused an uproar at the time and ensured the show could never be revived._


	2. Chapter 2

**_The Space Between Us_**

 _Chapter 2_

The air is pleasantly warm when they get outside, all the promise of the beautiful morning Castle experienced on waking finally being delivered.

Kate has thrown her light sweater over her shoulders and she looks to him for direction, some clue as to what comes next now that they've reached the bottom of the precinct steps and the big, wide world beyond.

"Let's go get coffee and…maybe take a walk," Castle suggests, turning south to face the sun, soaking up the warmth on his face, drawing on its energy like a power source for the tricky task ahead.

Kate falls in step beside him. "Now we're definitely playing hooky," she remarks, nudging him in the ribs as they cross the street.

"And when was the last time you did that? You don't remember, right?"

"Is that your point…this whole lesson today? Are you trying to prove that I'm boring and committed and—"

"No." He shakes his head. "No, that's not it at all."

She lightly touches his arm, her expression one of concern for him. "Castle, why do you look so serious? Are you sure you're not sick?"

The writer laughs uneasily. "I feel fine, Beckett. Though I am pleased to see you care."

"Don't push your luck. God knows what those two schoolboys are up there telling Gates if she puts them on the spot."

* * *

They walk a little further down the block to a café that they both know well, though they only tend to use it separately. They've fallen into silence until they pass the shiny front window, twin reflections looking back at them reminding Castle what they look like together, as a pair, as a couple. How right they seem, how well-matched.

"Why did you agree to leave with me?"

His question comes as a surprise, and Kate stops walking and frowns. "You said it was important."

"And…and just like that…you leave with me?"

"You were there. So, yes, just like that. It would appear so."

"Why, Kate?" he persists. He has a point, one she just can't see yet.

"Why what? Because I trust you. If you say it's important then it must be important."

"That's not what you'd have said in the past. You'd have blown me off, told me to come back later when you weren't so busy."

She smiles, a little lopsided. "To be fair, I did try that this morning."

"So what changed your mind?"

"I…I don't know. Something I saw on your face, maybe. You made it sound urgent or…" Kate shrugs.

"So you trust me."

"Of course I trust you, Castle. Where is this coming from? Why would you think I don't trust you?"

"Just wanted to check."

Kate turns towards the coffee shop entrance, her brow knit in confusion once more as she ponders what increasingly feels like a riddle. "Let's go get that coffee and then I want you to sit down and tell me exactly what's going on with you. Because so far today you're kind of freaking me out."

* * *

They stand in line behind two uniformed patrolmen, love handles swelling from above their chunky utility belts beneath heavy, navy work shirts. One of the men turns and catches Kate's eye. He gives her a civil, respectful nod, and then turns back to nudge his partner.

"Oh, hey. Detective," grins the young barista when they reach the front of the line, giving Kate a winning smile. "What can I getcha?"

When Kate tells the guy their order he does something of a double take.

"So…you guys are like…"

Kate and Castle's eyebrows both shoot up in anticipation of what this young guy thinks they are.

" _Like…?_ " prompts Kate.

"Married?" replies the barista.

"Eh…" Kate blushes furiously and the two beat cops smirk, while they stand off to one side waiting for their own coffee order, clearly enjoying the floor show.

"We're not married, no," Castle quietly tells the guy, watching with interest when he nods and smiles, openly demonstrating that this might be welcome news.

" _Cool,_ " he sings, eyes snapping back to Kate's face, helpless longing written in his idiotic smile.

* * *

"I think he likes you," Castle leans over to whisper in her ear, once they're seated.

He catches her mid-sip. "What? Who likes me?"

"Young barista over there."

"What on earth makes you say that?"

"He made a heart on your coffee."

"Castle, that's a flower."

"With a heart on top."

"Don't tell me you're jealous? Here…wanna trade coffees?"

"You know I don't like vanilla. And…yes, maybe a little."

She frowns, confused. "Maybe a little…you want to trade?"

"Maybe I am a little jealous."

"Of _him?_ Of Scott?"

"See, you even know his name."

"Castle, he wears a badge. And everyone knows his name. This place is like the coffee shop equivalent of a cop bar. Everyone at the Twelfth knows Scott."

"Ah, but does Scott put hearts on the top of everyone's coffee?"

"Most cops take it black with extra sugar. So, no."

"I'm…"

"You're being ridiculous, is what you are. So, come on…what's this all about? Today. Why're you acting so weird…or at least more weird than usual?"

He puts down his cup and takes a deep breath. "I'm gonna do this backwards so…just bear with me, okay?"

"Backwards? Weirder and weirder," she mutters, her eyes cast to heaven, her head shimmying from side-to-side. "But… _fine_. Okay," she agrees, a little exasperated with him as she discreetly checks the time on the café's vintage wall clock, trying to calculate how long she has until Gates calls her on the carpet for going AWOL.

"Do you want me?"

"Do I— _Excuse_ me?" she chokes, staring at him wide-eyed as she carefully puts her cup down onto the saucer.

"You heard. Kate, do you see a future with me in it? As more than your partner, I mean."

"Wow! You're just not holding back today, are you? Is this still about Scott? Because you are my partner and that trumps barista every time. No matter how good his latte art," she says, attempting to joke her way out of this ambush.

"You're not taking me seriously. Great." Castle slaps both hands down on top of his thighs as he pitches forward in his seat. The noise is loud and sounds kind of painful.

Kate reaches out to placate him before things get too heated for such a public setting. She lays her hand on his arm for a couple of seconds before letting go. "Hey. Slow down. Where is this coming from? You didn't answer me? You sure you're not sick or something?"

Castle stares at the floor between his feet. "I am sick of some things. Yeah. But not ill, like you mean," he explains, sitting up straight again.

"Like what? What exactly are you sick of?"

"Okay, sick is maybe too strong a word."

"Castle, spit it out."

"What's stopping us from being together, Kate?"

There follows a long, toe-curling pause while his partner fights to control the blush spreading up her face and neck by the power of will alone.

Castle leans in for another round, softening his voice this time to try and coax an answer out of her. "I'm not wrong, am I? You _do_ feel something for me, some attraction or…"

"You're really doing this now? _That's_ why you pulled me out of work? Made me get the boys to cover for us with Gates?"

"When else? Huh? When we're five years older, ten, twenty? When everyone we know is too old, sick or infirm to dance at our wedding? When Alexis is married? When she makes me a grandfather, and heaven forbid that happens too soon."

"Now you're just acting crazy."

"No. No, this is the _sanest_ I've felt since I met you."

" _Sane?_ Are you tired of waiting?"

"No, Kate. I just think maybe we've forgotten what we were waiting for or why."

"You think I don't see you anymore, is that it?"

"I think we both need a better reason to wait. You said you wanted to solve your mother's case before you'd be in a position to have the kind of relationship you want. I assumed, rightly or wrongly, that you meant with me. Are we really going to put our lives on hold until that happens? _If_ it ever happens."

"You _are_ tired of waiting."

"Kate, I would wait until my last breath if that's what you needed me to do. But I don't think that's what you want, if you take a moment to think about it. I'm wondering if we haven't got stuck in a trap of our own making, one that's comfortable enough that neither of us push for fear of causing some kind of upset to the status quo."

"And now you've decided to push? Today?"

"I decided to _ask_ the unaskable question. What are we waiting for? What's stopping us really? I just want you to think about that. To ask yourself these questions instead of…of _coasting_ until God knows when. And why? Because we're afraid of a little hard work?"

"I've never been afraid of hard work," she says defensively, sitting back in her chair and folding her arms, her lips settling into a firm, determined line.

"So, then why are you afraid of this?" he asks softly. "If it's because it matters so much that you can't bear to fail, then that's your answer, Kate. This thing between us…it means _so much_ to both of us that we've been willing to sacrifice a full, happy life just…just waiting for someday. For some sign from the universe that it's time to jump off the high board and sink or swim. For what it's worth, that's what I think."

Kate stands abruptly and throws her purse over her shoulder. "Well, for what it's worth, I have to get back to work before I get fired."

Castle catches her wrist before she can walk away from their table. She slides from his grasp until he's only holding onto her fingers as he looks up at her earnestly. "Just say you'll think about it? Please?"

Kate regards him steadily, her lip trapped between her teeth before she answers. Her voice is quiet but still perfectly audible.

"Some days I can think of little else," she admits, giving him a ghost of a smile before she turns and walks away.

This time he lets her go.

* * *

 _TBC..._

 _A/N: Thank you for your generous response to the opening chapter of this story. I'm very grateful. The photo that accompanies this chapter is on my Twitter feed - at livwilder2_

 _Final chapter up tomorrow or Sunday. Happy Friday, kiddos. xoxo_


	3. Chapter 3

**_The Space Between Us_**

 _Chapter 3_

She calls at three minutes after nine that night. He's in his study alone, having walked the floor for over an hour, eaten something utterly bland and forgettable that he had to force down, before finally giving today up as a bad idea and shutting himself away to nurse his bruises.

That "what's the worst that can happen" question from the past few days is now playing out loudly and imaginatively on a loop inside his head, scenario after scenario, each one worse than the one before, all sharing the commonality that she leaves him or simply cuts him off before they've even begun because he broke the code. She asked him to wait, in a roundabout way, and he didn't listen. He broke that code and barged in anyway, demanding deeper access to a life that isn't his to invade.

"Hey," he says too loudly and a little too quickly when he answers her call halfway through the first ring.

"Wow! Think you might have set a new record there, Castle. We should change your nickname to Quick Draw McGraw."

He takes the light-hearted, teasing tone she's offering with two grateful hands, slightly weak at the knees, and he matches it. "So…I have a nickname _already_?"

"Maybe a couple," she says cagily.

"And they would be…?"

"It's really a Ryan and Esposito thing. You should ask them."

"I see. So you've never been tempted to use this—"

"No," she steps in quickly.

Castle clears his throat and takes a deep breath. "Look, I'm sorry about today, Beckett," he says sincerely, changing the subject to the topic he assumes she's calling to discuss.

Rip off the Band-Aid, Rick, he tells himself, getting up to walk around while they talk.

"You don't have to apologize. That's actually why I'm calling."

Castle's brain is so fried by a sudden surge of hope that he has no idea what she means and refuses to risk screwing this up again by guessing. So he remains silent in the hope that she'll elaborate or at least realize he's clueless and offer him a little pity.

"Castle? You still there?" she asks instead, mistaking his silence for a dropped line.

"Yeah." He coughs. "Uh…yeah, Beckett. Still here."

"I was saying you don't have anything to apologize for."

"That makes a change," he jokes, again, no idea where she's headed with this unless she gives him a little more of a steer.

"Yeah," she grins, her voice warm and friendly again. "Makes a change."

Castle is drowning in waves that alternate between hope and fear, a sinking feeling in his gut that is only neutralized by the fact that Kate is still on the phone and quite obviously not yelling at him. He attempts to glean more exposure to her thinking by apologizing again for good measure. "Still, I shouldn't have dragged you out of work like that. It was impulsive and juvenile. I hope I didn't get you in trouble with the boss."

"We were lucky. Boys did a good job of running interference for once. Gates had no idea I was even gone."

"Oh. Okay, good," he says, nails jammed into the palm of his free hand to force himself not to push her again, not to ask the questions that are back on the tip of his tongue.

If he thought about it clearly for a second he'd realize that he is now the one who's backsliding, the one who isn't saying what he means or asking for what he wants. But maybe he tried that and failed. Maybe it's Kate's turn to push for a change.

"You made a difference today, Castle."

To hear her admit this shocks him.

"I did?"

"Yeah, you…you kind of opened my eyes to a couple of things I'd lost sight of."

"What kind of things?"

"You gave this a lot of thought, didn't you? What you said today, I mean."

"Maybe," he shrugs, going for offhand, which doesn't really work, given the circumstances. Finally, he caves. "Okay, yes. _A lot_. I…I had arguments with myself, I had fake arguments with you. I even tried to imagine how you must have debated stuff with your parents but…"

"Wow!" She sounds impressed.

"Yeah, well, turns out the whole lawyerly thing isn't really me. I'm sorry. Structured, logical, dispassionate argument in things like this…" He shrugs even though Kate can't see him. "Not really my strong point. I'm more of a speak-from-the-heart kind of guy."

"I can see that."

He hears her smile and he smiles back, his voice warm and familiar. "Yeah."

Kate clears her throat this time. "And you were right, you know. About a lot of the things you said."

"Hold the phone. Did…did you just say I was _right?_ "

"You heard me. Don't ruin the moment," she insists, following it up with a huff of helpless laughter.

"Fine. I'll be good," he says contritely, grinning.

There's a long, intimate pause before she asks, "Don't you want to know what you were right about?"

"I didn't want to embarrass you. But…yes, please," he asks eagerly.

"I've never just flat out asked for what I wanted…unless…with the job maybe or for other people. The way I was raised, you just endured, put others first. So…I'm not good at asking for anything, Castle. But I never forgot what I was waiting for, what I hoped we were both waiting for."

Castle sags with relief, honest words pouring out of his mouth and into the phone. "I wish you'd just talked to me, Kate. Said that…explained."

"I'm saying it now." She pauses, before adding, "If I'm not too late."

"Be clearer," he asks, sinking down onto the end of his bed.

"Can I come over? If it's too late I can—"

He stands again, suddenly, his voice earnest. "No. Come. Please."

"Okay then. I'll see you soon."

He doesn't want to hang up, but he does, if only to ensure she has two hands free with which to drive safely.

* * *

He's surprised when the buzzer sounds a mere handful of minutes later while he's in the bathroom brushing his teeth and combing his hair. He's even more surprised when the person at the door is Kate, her hair in a youthful ponytail and with a sheepish smile on her face. She's dressed all in pale grey cotton: leggings, a softly draped t-shirt with a long matching cardigan on top. Her feet are bare inside black ballet flats and she has a tan leather bucket bag slung over one shoulder. She looks comfortable but stylish, and Castle now feels less than elegant in his loose lounge pants, bare feet and a faded black t-shirt.

"Surprise!" she offers, bashful and charming all at once, making no secret of the fact that she's checking him out while he does the same to her.

Castle remembers his manners at the last second, stepping back to allow her entry into his home before he questions the whys and wherefores of her sudden appearance.

"That was fast."

She looks at the floor and then snaps her head up to eyeball him. "I was parked outside in my car. Didn't want to presume, so…"

Castle takes a deep breath. "Kate, I need you to presume. I _want_ you to presume. I'm begging you to—"

If the shock of her hands on his face don't silence him, then her lips covering his certainly do. She kisses him thoroughly, fiercely, a surge of need slicing through both of them in a body wracking shiver that makes Castle weak at the knees with desire for her and has him gripping her hips to hold her in place against him as they stumble back towards the firm support of the front door.

Eventually Kate pulls away to breathe, letting her forehead drop to his shoulder, her hands falling to his biceps to stay close and to steady herself.

"Presume," she whispers, completing his last sentence, though he has no idea how she has the strength or the recall to do so.

"Yeah. Now you've got it," he laughs shakily, rubbing one hand down the middle of her back in gratitude and comfort.

"Finally," she grins, stretching up on tiptoe to tease his eager lips with another open-mouthed brush of a kiss, which he chases until she pulls back again, drawing a needful groan from her partner.

"You lifted a veil today. I forgot why I was waiting, since I already knew what I wanted."

Castle nods sagely, taking everything in, waiting for her to continue. He strokes the sharp peaks of her hipbones through her leggings with his thumbs without even thinking about it.

"How did you know it would work?" she asks, surprising him with her directness and her need to understand him better.

"I didn't."

She tips her head to one side to look at him another way, as if his answer has changed her view of him. "And you still took the risk?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because this is what I want, Kate. And I knew that I couldn't hurt you by asking. Scare you maybe. But I love you, so I figure I'm incapable of hurting you with the truth."

That he loves her is a truth, one they both understand and have acknowledged in different ways. Without being openly discussed until now, it's very much at the core of who they are to one another as people.

Tears rise to swim in her eyes. "When I almost lost you in the bank," she whispers, her voice close to cracking.

"Shhh," Castle soothes, drawing her into a hug.

She lets him hold her and she folds him in her arms with equal strength, relaxing against his warm body while he presses kisses to her hair, muttering some incantation - loving words she can't make out - against her temple.

Eventually she eases back a little so that she can look him square on. She drops her hands from his body to catch with his and she gives him the most open, sincere look she can. "I need to say this, okay?"

Castle nods. "Okay."

A door opens somewhere upstairs and Kate stiffens and then freezes. The sound of soft footfalls on the upper landing has her holding her breath, until she looks at Castle's face and catches him smiling at her.

"What?" she asks, her own terrified expression melting into a matching grin of ridiculousness.

"You should see the look on your face."

"Shut up!" she hisses, swatting at his arm.

" _Ow!_ "

" _Dad?_ Dad, is that you? Are you talking to yourself again?"

Alexis' feet are quiet, muffled by thick socks on the stairs, and they both jump, having forgotten about the threat from above the second they became so caught up in one another.

"Detective Beckett. Good to see you," she says stiffly. "I wondered who you were talking to," she adds, turning to face her father.

"Nice to see you, Alexis," mutters Kate, knowing her words will be ignored. She takes the distraction to step even further back, to put space between herself and the girl's father, while trying not to look too obvious about it, since she's behaving as if she sneaked into the loft after curfew without the girl's permission.

"Am I interrupting something?" Alexis asks, boldly and a little vindictively, since you could cut the atmosphere with a knife.

"Yes," says Castle. "No," lies Kate.

Alexis smirks, looking from one to the other, and then shaking her head disdainfully. After a last glance at Kate, she says, "Thought as much."

Castle looks destroyed and embarrassed when his daughter turns on her heel without another word and makes for the safety of the staircase again.

Kate finally finds her voice. "Actually, you _were_ interrupting something," she tells the surprised teen. "Your dad and I have decided to give our relationship a go."

"A go?" snorts Alexis, mockingly.

Kate keeps her cool. "We want to have a proper relationship. We've been committed to one another for a long time. But...I've been holding back. I'm not going to do that anymore," she says clearly, reaching out to take Castle hand. "I hope you'll be supportive of us," she finishes, giving her partner's hand a squeeze.

Alexis turns back to face them, her gaze immediately drawn to their joined hands. "If you're asking my permission—"

"I'm not, no," Kate clarifies determinedly. "I'm just asking for your support."

Alexis looks slightly shaken. "What makes you think there's anything I can do?"

"Because your dad has taught me that if you want something you have to ask for it. I would like you to be okay with our relationship. I'd also like us to spend some time getting to know one another better, if you're open to that. That's all," she shrugs, determined not to make too big a deal of this with the girl, who will clearly take some time to trust her again after the rough ride she's given her dad.

The flint in Alexis' eyes seems to soften to coal at being included in this new relationship that her father and the detective have decided to embark upon. She nods, a quick bob of her head. "I'd like that too."

"Good. Great."

"Thanks, pumpkin," says Castle, walking the few steps to the bottom of the stairs to give his daughter a kiss on the cheek.

"Night, dad. I'm really happy for you," she whispers, giving him a quick hug. "Night, Detective Beckett."

"Night, Alexis. And please call me Kate," she offers by way of olive branch.

* * *

Kate and Castle finally move from the front door to the couch, sinking down side-by-side in a state of emotional exhaustion and bewilderment at the events that have transpired over the last twelve hours.

Kate drops her head to Castle's shoulder and he finds her hand, entwining their fingers on top of her thigh.

"That went better than I hoped," Kate admits, a little wryly.

"She'll come round."

"I know."

"So… _we_ have a lot to talk about."

"We do," Kate agrees.

He turns a little so he can see her face. "I'm pretty beat. You must be too. Want to spend the night?"

"Are you asking me to sleep with you, Mr. Castle?" Kate grins, a hand pressed to her chest, feigning scandalized.

"Hmm. That question has a lot of connotations and meanings. Could get me in a whole heap of trouble."

"No leading the witness, I see."

"Kate, I want what you want," he assures her, pressing a firm kiss to the top of her head.

"I think I finally get that."

"So…shall I rustle you up a new toothbrush or do you want me to call you a cab? I'm cool either way."

"I have to be at work early to prep the Darren Morgan case for trial."

"We could set the alarm…or not," he says, trying hard to read her expression, to figure out what she wants.

"Can I charge my phone?"

His heart rate soars. "Sure. Anything you need."

"Can we make hot chocolate?"

"Ditto."

"And drink it in bed?"

"You're really getting the hang of this asking thing, I see," he laughs.

Kate giggles, gently knocking her head against his. "Yeah, you've created a monster, Castle. So…come to bed with me?"

"What about the hot chocolate?"

"We can make it after."

Castle eyebrows shoot up. "After?"

Kate nods, a beautiful smile lighting up her face when she stands, pulling him up with her. "Yes, after. Now, come on. I think we've waited long enough," she tells him, as she leads him across the floor towards the darkened bedroom.

 _The End_

* * *

 _A/N: Thank you for reading. I really appreciate all of your kind messages and comments. And thanks again to WRTRD for her sane and helpful input along the way. Have a great weekend. xoxo_


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